


laura

by yekhuya (demkhuya)



Category: Silent Hill (Video Game Series)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Post-Canon, a little glimpse of the life laura and james lead after the events of sh2.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:53:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25062670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demkhuya/pseuds/yekhuya
Summary: laura and james love mary very much.originally posted ontumblr.
Relationships: James Sunderland and Laura, Mary Shepherd-Sunderland/James Sunderland
Comments: 10
Kudos: 50





	laura

laura is just over eight years old.

she counts down the months to her birthday and divides them into fourths in order to add that she is eight and three-quarters years old, but eight is just fine. she ties her hair when she wakes up and washes her dishes before heading to school in order to reinforce the maturity and independence that her teachers compliment in her report card. they’d occasionally remark, just after class,

— your father must be proud of you.

they’ve met james before, through parent-teacher conferences and when he drops off her forgotten pencil case or lunch from home. they find him quiet, unassumingly charming. she still winces when they call him her father.

he tried his best. he did various fatherly things. she appreciated it—the attempts he made to cook, the days they spent out. it wasn’t as awkward as she imagined it would be. it was better than the orphanage. he was a lenient man. after school, when work wasn’t so busy, he would take her somewhere they enjoyed. one thing she liked was walking to the park with that big lake–the one they passed every morning when he drove her to school–and running after the geese. their muddled reflections in the face of the water. once, she ran so quickly and so far around the lake that when she turned around, james was just a small discolored blur amidst the trees, the playground.

he was just standing here a moment ago, she thought. things change fast, don’t they?

some days, he would surprise her with new plush toys; bears, bunnies, dogs. material soft to the touch, pastel colors. as if they were for babies rather than children. she liked the gesture, even as it reminded her of his disconnect from everything around him. i’m almost nine years old, she would say, not nine months old. when he offered to return the toys, she refused. she would later place them on the nightstand beside her bed. nights where they had disagreements and she stomped up the stairs and slammed the door to her room, she would throw them against a wall. there was a time that she hated him enough to throw the toys away. that was a year ago.

she doesn’t do that anymore, but the remains of that hate have yet to wash away.

like when he stares into the distance at the train station and having to shake him back to reality, their current plane. counting to ten in her mind to ease her temper when he smiles in that sad way. searching for words to keep a conversation when he drives her home because she knows he didn’t sleep the night before and, though it won’t ever happen, she’s secretly afraid he’ll fall asleep at the wheel.

(she still has nightmares of their car, submerged in the water. she would attempt to wake him but he was still sleeping, and her voice made no sound.  
one kid at school told her drowning was one of the most painful ways to die.  
_imagine getting choked to death, but no one’s holding you down.  
and when you’re dead, your whole body bloats up ‘cause of the water. like a pufferfish.  
_such a vivid image of death. she would wake up in a cold sweat.)

these things happen less, now. just the odd, every other week, the inconsequential three or four days in a month. she is notably more bitter and temperamental when he is distant.

once, she snapped at him.  
— “she wasn’t just yours, you know. she was mine too.”

there was more, but the air became heavy and wrought with unburied gloom. something flickered over his expression. she excused herself and avoided him for the rest of the day and the day after. that was when she started counting to ten.  
she doesn’t blame him anymore.


End file.
